


our brown eyed girl

by queenofthecon



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, M/M, Multi, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, complete pornography tbh, just to be clear - fuck you alex delany, trash is as trash does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:23:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21719845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthecon/pseuds/queenofthecon
Summary: He leans into her, breath skirting the shell of her ear as he whispers. “Don’t think about the fact Delany’s eating dinner at the table we fucked on the other night, okay? Definitely don’t think about it.”An OT3 study.
Relationships: Alex Delany/Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz, Alex Delany/Claire Saffitz, Brad Leone/Alex Delany, Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 42
Kudos: 143





	our brown eyed girl

**Author's Note:**

> Please please please help me. <strike>The Delany thirst is hard and real because that man is a whole meal, much less a snack. A marathon discord thread inspired this because why not break all the rules if you're breaking one of them (so very Saffitz). </strike>
> 
> As always, the F in RPF stands for FICTION. None of this is real, is not intended to be presented as such (come on, when would this ever ever occur to any woman), it's just a venting for all of our deepest desires. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER JUNE 2020: Please note that this fic was written months prior to the realisation that Alex Delany had previously made misogynistic, racist and homophobic comments. I apologise for including him in this fanfic and will never write him as a character again. However, my options are to add this disclaimer or delete the fic as I have no motivation to re-write anything for now, and as this work is fictional, I chose to add this disclaimer. So, just to be crystal clear:
> 
> Screw you, and your fake fuckboy ‘charm’, Delany. 
> 
> Thank you for your time.

DISCLAIMER JUNE 2020: Please note that this fic was written months prior to the realisation that Alex Delany had previously made misogynistic, racist and homophobic comments. I apologise for including him in this fanfic and will never write him as a character again. However, my options are to add this disclaimer or delete the fic as I have no motivation to re-write anything for now, and as this work is fictional, I chose to add this disclaimer. So, just to be crystal clear:

Screw you, and your fake fuckboy ‘charm’, Delany. 

Thank you for your time.

***

Let’s get one thing straight right off the bat here: Claire loves Brad more than anything and anyone. It’s been that way inside her heart ever since their third date and six months after first meeting him. They’d had to hide their relationship for so long that it didn’t even feel like they’d been dating for nearly six years and living together for two. In that time, Claire had come to realise that there’s truly nobody on earth quite like Brad Leone – he’s seen a lot, done a lot, lived a hundred lives, visited a million places and makes friends no matter where he goes. So, it’s completely easy to love him and Claire does so more than anyone.

Except right now, when she’d kinda like to hit him in the head with a cast-iron skillet so he’d leave her alone. It’s times like tonight, lazy Sunday evenings when there’s nothing left around the house to do except watch TV and zone out with bowls of pasta, that he loves to start pushing the buttons on her that are big, red and shiny.

“C’mon, Claire!” he says as he hands her a steaming bowl of cacio e pepe. “You can’t tell me there ain’t a single person or thing you’d put on your fuck-it list?”

God, she really does _hate_ that term of his even though it makes her smile inadvertently. “Brad, we are not having this conversation,” she says with a chuckle, folding her legs underneath herself on the couch. “What’s wrong with being happy with the sex life we’ve got?”

Brad plants himself with a thud next to her on their couch, spreading his legs right over her lap because Brad Leone is an overgrown puppy and has to command her attention at all times. “Babe, you can be honest with me, y’know, no shame, no judging or whatever,” he gestures and nearly hits her in the face with his fork. “You know all my fucking stories,” he grins lasciviously at her. “But you never say anything about yours.”

“What’s there to tell?” Claire says, half through a mouthful of pasta. “_My_ youth wasn’t spent getting high in the back of a pick-up in New Jersey. I had a couple boyfriends, normal relationships, was single for a couple years and then I met you,” she shrugs. “That’s about it.”

He rolls his eyes and head back and makes a snoring sound until she smacks him in the leg. “Sorry! But it’s so boring, Claire, you cannot tell me you never even had one sordid little fantasy about something or other. Spending your whole youth being Miss Do-No-Wrong, s’fine or whatever, but everybody’s got at least one secret kink hidden somewhere so you might as well just tell me.”

Claire turns and looks at him with her brow arched. “Our sex life is hardly boring, thank you very much. Maybe I just don’t have any other kinks, not that we haven’t already tried anyway. What, you not happy with me?”

Truth be told, they’ve done a _lot._ Brad is more passionate and talented and knows her body better than any other guy she’s ever dated, and she doesn’t think there’s a lot left to explore anyway. It happens after six years of being together, working together, living together, getting into a swing and a routine. Maybe he’s simply making conversation, or just bored and poking holes but Claire doesn’t have any stories to tell.

“Course I’m happy, Jesus, you wore that lacy thing to bed the other night with the cut-out bits and I nearly ripped it off you even though it cost like a hundred bucks,” he grins, and she smirks too thinking of the handprints he’d worked up on her ass as punishment for spending that much on lingerie. “I was just thinking that if, y’know, on the off-chance you do got a kink, you might feel comfortable telling me.”

Claire twirls pasta around her fork, trying not to give too much away, just to see how far she can press him back since Brad had taken it upon himself to try and push her buttons tonight. “Why, what difference would it make?”

“Well, Claire, if you tell me, I might just do it,” he says, sounding mockingly scandalised with that smirk and twinkle in his eyes. He’d thrown down a challenge, a gauntlet, and Claire is not one to back down from that. They both know she’s gonna pull something out of her sleeve that’ll have him off kilter.

“Really? You think so?” she replies, biting down on her lip. Her fingers play with the seams on his cargo pants, running up and down each until she’s basically groping his calves above the fabric from just thinking about it. “If I tell you, you promise not to get weird or mad or anything?”

He gives her a look that is halfway between thinking she’s insane and him being excited, his eyes widening. “Oh my God, just tell me, I’m not gonna get like anything, I just need to know. Tell me, tell me, Claire!”

If she giggles, it’s from nervousness. If Claire’s honest with herself, there is one spark of a deep, deep down thing she’s wanted to try. It’s just gonna get weird and awkward and fantasies are meant to be fantasies and not realities and blah blah blah. If Brad wants to really, really know, he’s gonna have to accept that there’s no fulfilling this one.

“Uh… it’s… Delany, actually,” Claire says finally, not able to look Brad in the face. “You and me and… yeah, Delany.”

Uncharacteristically, Brad is stone cold quiet for at least a full minute and she only now does she dare to peek a look at him, his jaw a little dropped from the revelation. “Wow, babe, coming in hot and heavy with the three-way fantasy.” He licks his lips and she’s sure it’s not from the pasta. “Delany, huh?”

Claire shrugs again, non-committal and Brad pokes her knee with his foot. “What, you asked! It’s not like I’d actually go through with it.”

“Why not?! Sounds like a good time to me,” Brad exclaims, still eating dinner as if this was casual conversation to have every night. “You and me are solid as a fucking rock, babe. You want like the full menagerie, right? You, me and Delany… I can see it, Claire. It’s because he’s tall, isn’t it?” He teases mercilessly, getting completely carried away with it. “You got a type, Saffitz. This is gonna be fun.”

She just about chokes on her food, coughs and reaches for her water on the table, leaning over his legs. “You’re not telling me you’d be up for that?”

Brad’s got that patented wide, shit-eating grin on his face with those piercing eyes raking up and down her and Claire feels like she’s naked in front of him performing some lewd act. She’s only wearing red sweats, for God’s sake. “Hey, I’m game if you are, Half-Sour. I take it you never woke up in Harvard with a couple strangers and no memory of the night before?”

A snort comes from her somewhere involuntarily, the heat from her cheeks radiating. “No, oh my God, who’d do that? That sounds so gross, I hate strangers at the best of times, why’d I want to sleep with two of them?”

“So, this’d be your first three-way?” he asks, putting down his mostly empty bowl onto the side table. “No prior experiences?” He’s still looking at her like _that_.

“No…” Claire replies, eyeing him suspiciously, trying to not envision the fantasy in her brain. “Have you ever…?”

Brad stands abruptly, plucking her bowl of mostly eaten pasta from her grip and setting it and her water back on the coffee table. “Well, Saffitz, a gentleman don’t kiss and tell, but uh… I’m no altar boy if you get me,” he hauls her up from the couch in a fireman’s lift with complete effortless ease, sliding her entire body over his shoulder as if she weighs barely anything.

“Brad!” Claire screeches as he smacks her ass, her scrabbling with giggles to hold onto his torso for balance. Her hair’s covering everything so she can’t see what he’s up to. She loves this man entirely. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m just heeding the saying, babe. Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise!” he barks in laughter from above her, making sure to bounce her body with every step towards their bedroom.

Before she knows it, he’s thrown her onto the bed where she bounces, still laughing like a maniac from the shock. She guesses he’s not exactly averse to the whole _Delany_ thing, doesn’t judge or read too much into it like she’d feared.

“It’s like 7.30, Brad, it’s not even dark out yet!” Claire exclaims with faux innocence, rolling her eyes as he crawls on the bed over her, the mattress dipping from his weight.

Brad kisses her with reckless abandon like he’s won some prize for getting her to admit to having sordid sex fantasies. “Saying’s early to bed, Harvard, it don’t say anything about sleeping.”

With his lips and teeth on the bit of her neck he calls her sweet spot, Claire lets her eyes drift shut and surrenders to the goosebumps on her skin. “Oh God, you’re fucking impossible. I didn’t even get to finish dinner. I had emails and stuff to do…”

“Screw emails, Claire,” he groans into the crook of her neck, hooking her thigh up over his hip so he can press and push her to the limit. “I wanna hear all about the secret filth your brain comes up with. What you wanna do to me and Delany, huh?”

The rest of their lazy Sunday night is spent with her painting increasingly bold, graphic pictures in his ear as he fucks roughly her into their bed. Six years and he still surprises her with every turn.

There’s bruises on her hips the next morning and he kisses every single one proudly.

\---

_‘Just imagine it, Claire_,’ Brad had said to her last night while her thighs trembled, her skin sweating. ‘_Two of us, more than you can probably handle. Delany’s almost as big as me. You want a challenge, huh?’_

Problem is, it’s Monday morning and she can’t quite look Alex Delany square in the eyes when he comes sauntering in with sunglasses on his face and a genuine smile to match the sunbeams coming through the windows. Claire catches Brad looking between them, smirking at her from his station knowingly, though his cheeks are starting to look pinker than normal too. Her heart’s hammering in her chest remembering exactly what they’d got to talking about in bed last night, all the things she’d said as he got her closer and closer to a crashing edge.

“Hey Claire!” Delany calls, bouncing over to her with a bottle of something in his hand and that patented Delany smile. “Look what I scored last night, just like you told me.”

“Huh?” she mutters, dragging her eyes from the view of Brad’s pointed gaze to the wine bottle now floating under her nose. “Is that a ‘96?”

“Uh yeah, duh,” he grins wider. “Ximénez-Spínola. $65 dessert wine, my guy totally hooked me up.”

She hears Brad snort in the back of his station but ignores it, taking the bottle of wine from Delany’s hand instead, running her fingers around the frosted glass like it’s not real if she doesn’t. “Wow. This is like my favourite,” she beams up at Alex, forgetting for just a split second what she and Brad had talked about in bed the night before. “Can I grab a taste when you open it?”

But Alex looks at her like she’s talking in tongues. “Grab a taste? I got it for you, Claire, you said it’s your favourite. You want it, right?”

Claire blinks for a second before it comes rushing back to her. “Oh! I didn’t think you were actually listening to me.”

“Hey, c’mon, I’m the man, Claire,” Delany grins, his hands stuffed into his pockets. “Besides, you kinda owe me a favour now…” he chuckles and turns, wandering back up the other end of the test kitchen and she realises that Brad has completely stopped what he was working on before, leaning on his workstation with taut arms and an inscrutable look.

If Claire’s eyes kinda linger on the way Delany’s back moves and on the slim line of his hips a little too long, then it’s completely Brad’s fault. It was barely even a deep seated fantasy before, but God, it’s so different saying it aloud.

‘_That what you want, Claire, complete fucking devotion from all sides?’_

Her tongue flicks out over her dry lips as Delany slips out of sight. Bravely, she looks up and over at her boyfriend, who’s now staring at her with the darkest gaze he’s ever given her, that knowing smile on his face and barely concealed excitement bouncing through his blood. Claire clutches at the frosted bottle of wine in her hand, her palm wrapped around the neck and thumb running over the cork at the top, wondering a million things at once.

As her eyes skim over the nearly empty kitchen, Claire crooks a finger towards Brad, beckoning him to follow her. She leads them both back into a disused storeroom full of her candy experiments and specialised equipment: her little hoarding room. He follows her obediently, wiping his hands on his apron and she can’t help but feel like the most powerful woman in the world, having this giant of a man wrapped around her finger, at her beck and call, so fucking in love with her that he’d give her anything. It’s love-drunk lust with your soulmate, your best friend, your world.

“Claire…” Brad mutters as they step into the storage room together, turning on the light. “If I were another guy who didn’t know how much you loved him, I’d be fuckin’ jealous right now,” he mutters, towering over her and backing her into the end wall because he could, he’s just so… big. “Couldn’t help noticing the way you were making doe eyes at Delany like he’s a tasty little snack to eat up. Look at him, bringing you presents.”

“I guess you’re right, I have a type,” she says softly, setting the precious wine down on one of the racks. “Not my fault you two have a similar build, same height, nice smiles…”

“I fucking knew it,” Brad swears on a broad smirk, leaning down and kissing the breath from her body, her skin chilled by the wall behind her back. “Claire Saffitz, you are a bad, bad girl underneath that straight-A Harvard-grad mask. I’m kinda digging it.”

“This is so your fault,” she mutters, her eyes sliding shut when his thigh presses tenderly between her legs, her arms looping over broad shoulders. “All that talk last night? You were into it as much as me.”

She feels the grin and laugh against her neck, him teasing her with enough pressure to get her riled up and aching. “Fuck yeah, I love it when you get all greedy and desperate on me. I’m kinda getting into the idea of you being at our mercy, y’know?” His hands pin her wrists against the wall next to her head as he ruts his thigh up, making her bite back a groan. “Keeping you satisfied is a two man job, babe. And to see you get eaten out _and_ watch your face this time, make you look me in the eyes when you come… fuck, Claire...”

Claire, her eyes closed, whines softly as he pulls away from her entirely, leaving her wanting and flushed. “Brad!”

“We’re at work,” he smirks but can’t hide those sparkling deep blue eyes and the look inside them. “You gotta have patience in order to appreciate what you’re gonna get later. It’s always better when you earn it.”

Brad looks her once over, dragging his eyes down her form and leaves her in that closet, wanting and on edge just from his words, just from the ideas he’s planting inside of her head. She’s not sure if she’d be able to survive a night with two of them playing her body just for pleasure, if it ever happens, even on an off-chance. She’s hot and bothered just from the idea of it rooting inside her head – Claire might combust if anything actually were to happen.

But it won’t. She’s pretty sure.

Like 75% sure.

\---

Strangely, not another word about Delany or hidden kinks passes between them for another week, even though as soon as they get home that same Monday, they’re on each other, rucking up their clothes and fucking quickly on the dinner table because he’d kept her on edge all day with smirks, fingertips grazing her hips, leaning over her counter like he owned it, just to drive her insane. Claire chalks it up to Brad getting the whole threesome idea out of his system, because Brad knowing what dirty things were inside her head was apparently enough for him.

At least, that’s what she thinks.

Tonight, there’s soft music playing in the background in their home kitchen, that indie rock he loves so much flowing through his fingertips as he cooks for her, completely at ease, happy, almost giddy and sweet, loving and attentive. It’s rare that Claire doesn’t help make dinner, but he wasn’t letting her lift a finger except to taste the crispy polenta he’s got in the pan, a tester sample almost perfectly crunchy and warm from a lot of black pepper, parmesan, and herbs.

Brad lifts a fork to her mouth, and she takes the dutiful bite, licking her lips as she tries his sample. “Oh, that’s so good. Maybe a little more salt?”

“Is it too much garlic?” he asks, sounding genuinely worried about it.

Claire shakes her head and scrunches her face up because that’s a dumb thing to suggest, lifting her glass of wine to her lips. “No, no, there’s no such thing in polenta.”

Brad beams and kisses her lips quickly, leaving her giggling. “God, I fucking love you, Saffitz.”

“I love you too,” she replies. She’s in too good of a mood, her hair damp and curling slightly from the shower she’d climbed out of an hour ago, feeling fresh and warm and happy in their home. It makes her want to never leave this moment.

She knows that this it for her, for them, and it’s just a matter of _when_ he’s going to ask her to marry him with the diamond ring he’s hidden sloppily in a pair of socks. She’ll let him have that, though, make the fuss and make her cry, see his face when she inevitably says yes. Claire loves this man, this life, in ways she never thought possible. Her fingers skim over his back as he adds more salt to the polenta, frying up the full batch as she watches. It’s a beautiful thing.

Then there’s a solid knock at the door and she’s startled out of her reverie of being incredibly attracted to her own boyfriend.

“Babe, can you get that?” he says, focussing entirely on the polenta and prepping the scallops for a quick sear.

At first, Claire doesn’t think much of the knock. Maybe just a lost pizza guy or a girl scout looking to sell her about twenty boxes of Thin Mints, before Claire realises it’s almost winter and her supply’s been gone for months. She pads barefoot to answer it, taking a sip from her wine.

And then at the door as it opens, is Alex Delany holding a bottle of something and a pink bakery box in one broad hand, dressed as nice as he always dresses in slack jeans and a button-down shirt under his camel coat. She just has no idea _why_.

“Hey Alex…” Claire says, blinking and dumbfounded, caught off-guard and unaware. “What’re-”

“Delany!” Brad interrupts, striding over and grinning widely. He claps Alex on the shoulder and hugs him as he walks inside their living room. “Hey man, glad you came. Sorry, Claire, I forgot to tell ya, I invited ole Delany over for dinner, say thank you for that bottle he got you the other day.”

“Yeah, man, I hope it was good,” he says, glancing down at Claire, who has about seventeen million thoughts and feelings rushing through her. More that she’s not got a scrap of make up on her face whereas Delany looks like he wandered out of an Abercrombie and Fitch commercial.

She’s so acutely aware in this moment of how small she is, standing next to these two, both towering over her with warm, honest smiles. “Uh, yeah, yeah, it was great, sorry…” she giggles almost nervously. “I just wasn’t expecting you tonight,” Claire shoots a pointed look at Brad, who at least has the mind to look a little sheepish. “Come in, I better set another place at the table…”

Delany steps inside as Brad closes the door behind him, Claire taking the wine and the box from his hands with a soft thanks; it’s practiced, smooth and domestic. “Wow, something smells good in here,” Alex mutters, glancing between Brad and Claire as he takes his coat off to hang by the door.

“Oh yeah, I got you hooked up bud. Super fresh scallops, with like a little gremolata and crispy polenta, it’s gonna be so good,” Brad replies excitedly. “Come see, I got it nearly done.”

Claire looks between them curiously, grabbing an extra plate for Alex from the cabinet, holding it to her chest, not quite sure exactly whether this is something or nothing or everything. Her instinct tells her Brad’s winding her up again, just to let her loose later and enjoy the reward of a night of teasing and side-eyes, but they look so genuinely engrossed in each other already that she gives the idea pause.

Alex’s palm comes up to rest on Brad’s shoulder as he looks into the skillet of polenta on the stove, almost perfectly crisp and ready to flip. “I gotta take you two out to try the seafood bars downtown, man, they’re so damn good,” he says, grinning over his shoulder at Claire. “Want any help? I got idle hands here.”

Her tongue skirts her lips at _that_ thought and she clears her throat. “Uh… you wanna open up that bottle of wine, Delany? Dinner won’t be long.”

Jostling Brad a bit, Alex obeys and easily finds the corkscrew on the counter as if he’s lived with them for the years they’d been there, grabbing an extra wine glass from the exact right cabinet. Claire sees far too much competence in Delany to be real; he’s laidback, unintimidating and effortlessly himself.

She steps next to Brad as Delany crosses the room to the small dinner table to pour them all the wine he’d brought, her eyes dragging from Alex to her boyfriend. “What’s going on?” she mutters softly under her breath, still holding the plate to her chest. “Brad…”

“Relax, Claire,” Brad says, eyes mischievous as he places seasoned scallops into a ripping hot skillet. “It’s just dinner. Seeing you squirm is a handy little by-product.”

“You’re gonna make this so hard on me, aren’t you?” Claire replies, leaning against the counter. “I’ll get you back later.”

“Countin’ on it, babe,” he blushes softly and suddenly, glancing over her shoulder before leaning into her, breath skirting the shell of her ear as he whispers. “Don’t think about the fact Delany’s eating dinner at the table we fucked on the other night, okay? Definitely don’t think about it.”

It’s at that point when Claire’s heart judders, and her breath catches that she’s completely sure: the night is utterly fucking doomed and Brad Leone is still entirely to blame.

\---

Alex Delany – out of all the people she’s met – is definitely the coolest guy to be around, with almost supernatural ease in charming them both and making her _and_ Brad laugh with his stories about restaurant hopping, about DJ-ing in South Jersey to make rent as a college kid, about interning and the wild things he’s seen at 3am in New York City. He’s so much like Brad in that way, social and warm, filling any voids in conversation before they could get too loose, too adult and dry. It’s just nice not to have to try and be social, fill the silences, to not be feeling like she wants him out of her home as soon as dinner’s over. Delany, Claire decides, can stay.

It could be the second glass of the beautiful dry Riesling talking, or Brad’s hand hot and rough on her thigh half the night, but Claire’s a little bit in love with Alex Delany by the time they’d finished the slices of cherry pie he’d bought for them. From her favourite little hole in the wall pie place no less.

Claire’s giggles bubble up in the back of her throat, her eyes glancing at the dinner table for the hundredth time that night, unable to not think about her boyfriend’s words to her earlier, just to make her tingle. Brad’s fingers have been gliding up and down her leg all fucking night too and she just can’t stop the butterflies in her stomach.

“I can’t believe you remembered me telling you about Petey’s Pie shop, Alex,” Claire says as she licks the last of the cherry pie filling off her spoon. “That must have been like a year ago.”

Delany smiles softly, his eyes warm on her face as he sips wine from his almost empty glass. “When Claire Saffitz has a favourite pie place in the city, you kinda have to remember which one it is, right?” he gestures at Brad with the glass.

“Oh hell yeah, I mean, it’s not as good as yours, Claire, but then I got discerning taste and high standards,” his knuckles drift higher up her thigh where he’s sat beside her at the small dining table and she gets that feeling again, where she doesn’t know whether to lean into the skid or overcorrect. “It’s great pie. Delicious.” The dinner table seems inconsequentially tiny of a barrier with these two men, both completely whole and big compared to her.

It’s then that she sees Alex’s eyes dart to where Brad’s hand is drifting higher up her thigh, tantalisingly close to where she’s a little needy, a little achy and warm, her legs spreading unconsciously to accommodate his wide palm. She catches Delany’s eye as he glances back to her face and it’s like something switches in all of them in tandem as the boys look past her to each other. Her heart’s racing, her throat dry and her skin tingling all over just from a heated gaze passing between them for such a brief moment.

It’s Claire who clears her throat, shifting in her seat. “I guess it’s my turn to do the dishes,” she says softly, moving to take Brad’s empty plate.

Instead, his other hand reaches out and catches her wrist delicately, manoeuvring her arm back to her side. “Nah, what’s the rush?” he asks, placing a whisper of a kiss on her shoulder. “They’ll be here tomorrow, babe. We got all night.”

Her teeth drag over her lip and she’s just so unsure, nervous and scared, already overwhelmed because Alex Delany is leaning on his forearms on the table, staring at her as if she’s a whole bottle of something rare to be savoured and devoured slowly. There’s no mistaking that glint of danger in his eyes and the slow growing grin as he drains the last of his wine. He doesn’t have to say a fucking word.

“You know, don’t you?” Claire mutters as her cheeks blaze red from embarrassment, from desire and craving. She turns her head to Brad, who’s grinning like an idiot in love. “You told him.”

But he simply captures her lips in a slow, searing kiss, pulling her thighs apart as he touches her. She’s rooted to the chair as it scratches a little on the hardwood floor from his strength. “Took a chance, paid off. You trust me, don’t ya, Saffitz?”

“If you wanna stop, Claire, we can stop. None of this has to go past this point if you don’t want it to,” Alex says, ever understanding, warm, sweet, and completely incorrect. “Just say and we’ll call it a night here and now and go back to yesterday.”

Brad, because he’s Brad, snorts softly in laughter again. He knows exactly what she wants. He always has, he’s always anticipated exactly what she needs in every situation and what she needs right now is someone to challenge her, to tell her to have her cake and eat it too.

His fucking hand skims her centre almost imperceptibly, raking from the waist band of her jeans up to cup her cheek. He turns her head to meet his eyes, blown and wide and _hungry_. “Or you could just trust us. Let us take care of you, give you all you need.”

It’s so much all at once and Brad’s mouth looks so good, his fingertips pushing her hair back. “It’ll be okay?” she whispers, hearing a chair scrape against the wooden floor again. “Promise?”

“When have I ever let you down?” Brad replies earnestly, leaning forward and kissing her with instant heat. His tongue presses inside her mouth as she feels another hand skimming down her right arm tentatively. There’s no universe where Brad Leone ever let her down, not even for a second, and yes, she realises; she trusts him – trusts them – with her body, her life and heart.

Claire pants as Brad breaks away and she’s already drunk on lust. Her heart’s hammering a fast rhythm in her chest, threatening to shatter as she turns and sees Delany standing above her, different somehow, not _Delany_ but Alex. Their Alex.

Slowly, he crouches beside her and pulls softly on her knee, spreading her legs apart. “You’re beautiful,” he mutters absently, mimicking Brad’s hand tracing higher and higher up her thigh, the touch different, as if Alex is scared one wrong move and he’ll break the spell between them: Claire’s not that easily broken from an idea once her mind’s made up.

“You wanna kiss him, kiss him,” Brad says into her ear; she feels the thrum of excitement barely able to be contained inside him, threatening to throw her onto the table again. “I wanna watch.”

It’s not in her nature to be obedient but Alex is kneeling by her chair, his head tilted up as if she’s a goddess sitting on a throne. Claire’s never felt more powerful in her life. He leans up and kisses her too tenderly until Brad’s hands press softly at her core over her jeans, setting her on fire. She shifts in her seat, gasping softly into Delany’s mouth as she feels every nerve starting to tingle where Brad touches her. It’s not _fair_; she’s completely outnumbered, blindsided and wet as fuck.

Alex slides his fingers into her grey-streaked hair and worries softly at the slightly damp roots, biting and nipping at her bottom lip until it’s swollen and tender. Claire moans in loss as he pulls away, ready to pounce but also rooted to the spot. She hasn’t even had to touch them yet, but she knows if she does, there’s no going back.

“What do you want, Claire?” Alex mutters, licking his lips as Brad keeps up soft, torturous pressure between her legs. “Tell us.”

“I… I don’t…” she closes her eyes as it becomes too much stimulation. Every woman’s fantasies at her disposal feels like a lot to live up to and she doesn’t want to ruin it for anyone but if she doesn’t come soon, she’s pretty sure the world will collapse. “I need-”

As always, Brad’s there already, in her head. He drops his palm from between her legs and instead stands, taking her hand in his. “Come on. I’m all for fucking on the dinner table but I think me and Delany would break it,” he chuckles lowly and it’s exactly what she needs. Perspective, fun, the comfort of Brad to make it less intimidating.

Delany takes her other hand without hesitation and Claire’s voice is lost as Brad leads them all into their bedroom. It feels like a private boundary they almost shouldn’t cross, letting Alex into this part of their lives if only for one night. Any lingering fears she has melt away as they both reach for her at the same time, hands smoothing up her back and over her hips.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters as Brad’s knuckles skim over her breasts. “What’d I do to get you to love me this much?”

Brad doesn’t answer, instead just kissing her again like they have a million times before. Alex’s softer hands swipe underneath her t-shirt from behind and slowly pull it up, off her body, his lips grazing the back of her neck and she can _feel_ him behind her, hard and soft, wrapping his arms around her until his palms settle on her stomach.

“Nice freckles,” he chuckles behind her, kissing the smattering of them across the tops of her shoulder. “She’s gorgeous, man, you’re a lucky bastard.”

“Don’t I know it,” Brad replies, stepping back slightly to watch as Delany cups her breasts in his hands, feels the weight and the softness over the fabric, his eyes glued to her face. “Fuck yeah, you wait til you see her come. She lights up, like firecrackers or something, I dunno, it’s magic.”

Claire’s skin is alight as Delany deftly unclasps her bra and throws the fabric off into nowhere. Her eyes slide closed at the sensation of new hands on her, different tentative touches that have to learn what, where and how.

“Please, please,” she begs, bucking back into him as he barely touches her, barely grazes her. Her hands try guiding him to give her more but he’s resisting letting her lead so really, she has no option but to whine. “Brad, tell him.”

There’s a low chuckle in front of her and when she opens her eyes, Brad’s already got his shirt off and his cargo pants unzipped. “Yeah, Claire doesn’t really do much teasing, Delany,” he says, taking a couple steps forward. “Though it’d be nice to watch you suffer just a little, babe, just sayin’.”

A protest forms on her tongue but then Brad’s rough fingers reach up, pull and squeeze and grope one of her breasts enough that she moans and buckles from the sudden sharp sensation, her knees loose. Alex groans in her ear as he watches her body loosen from a simple rough touch, and finally, he’s getting the idea that she’s not made of porcelain.

“Okay Claire,” Alex says into her neck, one hand mimicking Brad’s on her other breast, pinching, groping. “Purposeful touches, yeah?”

Again, her reply is swallowed up as Brad folds almost in half to take her nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting like she likes. The sensation wrecks her, her hands itching to touch herself just for relief, but Alex’s arms trap hers by her side, keeping her at their mercy. It’s almost too much to bear when Brad pulls off her abruptly as she buckles, ripping her from Delany’s arms and shoving her roughly onto the bed. Claire has no time to think as they both in tandem pull single-mindedly at her heavy jeans and her underwear, peeling them off her until she’s bare naked in front of them both, flushed, tender, swollen, her core soaked.

She folds onto her back and pushes on her elbows to look at them both palm themselves through their pants, Delany taking in every inch of her because he can’t decide which bit is best, while Brad studies her like a painting he’s seen a hundred times but is looking at from different eyes. Her thighs spread slowly as the heat and ache get too much to handle when Brad pulls out his cock.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?” she groans helplessly, tilting her head back to take a break for a second and gain some perspective on this situation. Neither one of them have any idea what it’s like to feel tiny, breakable, vulnerable as she feels with them both standing at her feet, just taking the soft curves of her body in. But Claire wants them, she wants both inside her, wants both to fuck her brains out, hold her down and make her take them so she can return the favour later.

Brad’s eyes flicker over Delany as the man takes his own shirt off to catch up to the rest of the party. “What you think, Alex?” he asks, wrapping a palm around his own hard cock, squeezing slightly. “Fucking delicious, right?”

“Looks like it.” She sees her friend swallow, and his eyes fixate on her. It’s new, exciting, uncharted territory she’s never hiked before. “Can I?”

“Hey, little advice, if you do, don’t stop until she comes, or she’ll bitch about it and pay you back tenfold.” Brad chuckles, taking a step back to lean against their dresser for a perfect view. “I wanna see this.”

But Claire is not prepared for Delany’s hands rough and tight on her ankles, pulling her to the very edge of the bed before they switch to her slicked thighs, pulling them as wide apart as he can make them go. Alex’s rough beard scratches as he licks up every drop from her skin, making her clutch desperately at the bedsheets at the familiar sensation. It’s so strange; he feels like Brad did in the beginning of their relationship, wanting to learn how she likes things, trying every spot wildly until something sticks. The feel of him too is so familiar – that scrape of his beard, determined hands that hold her thighs aloft with effortless ease, thick fingers that start to slide over her – but he’s not Brad. Brad’s watching them, swallowing and working himself over at the same pace as Alex slides a single finger into her core. It’s like an out of body experience.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Claire whines as his tongue skirts the edge of where she needs him most, her hips bucking uselessly because his grip is like wrought iron now, her knees up high. “Alex… too much, please…”

Claire hears her boyfriend growl as her fingers slide into Delany’s hair when he doesn’t take the hint, shoving his face exactly where she needs. She can feel the smile he can’t help before his tongue presses intently to her clit and he eats every drop of her greedily, pulling back just before she starts to tip over the edge.

Fingernails scrape at Alex’s hair and falter as Claire is driven to insanity from his assault. Her eyes go from the head between her legs to her boyfriend jacking off watching them. She must have missed Brad taking the rest of his clothes off but he’s naked now and comes towards her when she nods, silently begging for him to help her.

“He being good to you, babe?” Brad says as he kneels beside her on the bed, his line of sight flickering from Delany’s tongue lapping at her to Claire’s own expression of pure fucking pleasure.

She nods silently, thanking the universe that they’ve given her the chance to experience _this_ so safely, secure, adored and loved. Her brain can find only one way to thank her boyfriend for pressing this, for pushing her to be selfish: Claire steadies herself and wraps a hand around Brad’s cock firmly, striping her tongue over him from base to tip before taking him into her mouth. The broken groan he gives her is reward itself.

Alex slides another finger into her and stretches and twists, sucking relentlessly at her swollen clit and Claire cries out sharply around Brad’s cock in her mouth, hot and heavy. Her thighs quake and tremble and she has to pull away from her boyfriend because Delany refuses to let up on her. Alex is everywhere inside her, licking and sucking, and stroking every muscle to a fine-tuned perfection.

It’s Brad’s wide hand sliding over Delany’s head that sets her over the edge, guiding his tongue directly to her clit. “Jesus fucking Christ, look at you, babe. Come on, come on, come on.”

In a rush of white heat and sharp pleasure piercing through her, Claire comes, lifts her hips and presses for more until it’s too much, almost sobbing from it. Wetness pools around her inner thighs as Alex tries his best to lick up every drop of her. She barely has the mind to see how messy his pretty face has been made before she collapses back onto the bed, boneless and still shaking from coming so hard.

Alex is breathing hard when he pulls away from her and stands, looking as wrecked as she feels. He licks his softly swollen lips and wipes them off as he peels off his clothes. He’s perfect, he’s beautiful and she wants to give them both everything she owns in thanks for this.

Then Brad leans over her body and slides his tongue into Delany’s willing mouth and she whimpers at the sight. His fingers fist almost angrily in the other man’s soft, thick hair as they battle for every drop of her on his tongue, getting lost in kissing each other. Claire just watches as they pull apart finally, both naked and hard and _hers_. “Wow,” her eyes bug as Alex’s hand grabs his own thick cock, squeezing slightly and twisting, as if he can’t stop himself. “That was so cute.”

Brad is the one who breaks apart in laughter first, pulling away from Delany to kiss her tenderly too, stroking his fingertips down the curve of her cheek. “Cute, huh? You think we’re cute?”

She nods, biting her cheek to keep from making another comment. She has her palm flat on his abdomen, her thumb skirting teasingly down his length.

“To be fair,” Alex says, kneeling on the other side of her on the bed. “You taste like heaven, so…” he shrugs and bends to kiss her sweetly too, almost chaste.

“I know, right?!” Brad exclaims, shifting to sit down, still hot and hard. “I swear it’s all the desserts and fruit and stuff, but it’s like fuckin’ nectar of the Gods, Delany.”

Sweat sticks her hair to her face and she’s covered in bite marks, redness forming everywhere but she’s never felt more beautiful. “I didn’t even shave my legs for this,” she comments absently, moving more upright now that the high of her orgasm had dissipated. “Could’ve warned a girl before you throw a threesome at her.”

Laughter from Brad rings in her ears, “Hey, Delany, you care that Claire didn’t shave her legs?”

“Were we meant to?” Alex replies almost mockingly. “I didn’t shave mine either.”

Giggles burst through her as Alex sits back down on the bed and she immediately climbs into his lap, using Brad’s broad shoulders to help her slightly jellied thighs. “Don’t knock it til you try it,” she mutters before leaning down and kissing Alex again.

Brad’s right, though; it doesn’t matter that nobody warned her because her brain would have just made her chicken out of it anyway if she had known beforehand that Delany was gonna fuck her brains out while her boyfriend watches. It doesn’t matter that she hasn’t got silky legs or skimpy lingerie on or even dry hair – they only care about her, about each other and the sparks igniting.

The kisses between all three of them turn feral when her hips shift to slide her wet core over Alex’s hardness. He reaches for her hips, but she snatches his hands up because payback’s a bitch, pinning them to the mattress instead as she slides up and down him.

“You gonna ride him, babe?” Brad mutters in her ear, shifting behind her, his voice dark and deep like he gets when she’s the one taking control. “Make him see God?”

Claire groans and nods, licking her lips. Below her, Delany looks like he’s barely holding back from taking back control – he could, she knows. He’s stronger than her, could flip her over and just fuck her into oblivion – but he doesn’t move, doesn’t break the spell and she respects that more than anything.

“Can you?” she asks Brad quietly, lifting her hips so he can get a palm around Alex’s cock, line them up and let her sink down on him.

It takes a second to adjust to this feeling of someone new inside her, but Brad’s thick fingers flirting and teasing at her clit don’t exactly hurt. She whimpers softly as her thighs settle on Alex’s, her muscles trying hard because Alex Delany is a lot to handle too. But Brad’s there behind her, his lips kissing and dancing across her neck and shoulders, sounding wrecked as he glances down the length of her body to watch as she starts moving. Her hands release Alex’s wrists and obediently, he stays in place, grabbing at the bedsheets with his head thrown back.

“Oh God,” he groans when she clenches down, starting to go faster and harder with Brad’s grip tight on her hips, bruising and punishing. “Claire…”

But she’s totally lost in fucking herself on him, riding and bucking harder and faster with Brad’s help and tight grip helping set a fast, punishing pace. There’s no words, just groans and the slap of skin on skin and the feel of them both, of Alex’s cock inside her and Brad’s pressing into the small of her back looking for relief. Part of her absently thinks about having both of them at the same time and knows if that happens, she’ll be tapped out for like a week – it might be worth it someday, but not now, not when there’s too much to try. She’s greedy like that.

Her back arches sharply when Brad smacks her ass hard, unfocussed from which part of her he wants to touch because he’s everywhere with lips, teeth, fingers groping and nails scraping to mark her, like he wants Alex to know she’s his despite what they’re doing.

“Please…” she whispers to him, turning her head and kissing her boyfriend sloppily, her hands on his forearms with her nails digging in to mark him back. “Love you.”

“I love you so fucking much,” he grunts, rutting himself against, losing control of the urge.

Below her, Alex thrusts up, his eyes now fixed firmly on the two of them, reaching to hold onto her thighs. He’s leaner than Brad just a touch, but not as soft, his skin warm and almost pale. Her fingers rake through his chest hair and over his nipple until he inhales sharply and fucks up into her quicker.

Claire feels everything from them all at once; Brad’s hand sliding into her hair and tugging sharply as he simultaneously swipes rough fingertips at her swollen folds, where Alex is pounding up into her to chase the end. She’s got a death grip on Brad’s arms as she comes hard and fast, crying out and sobbing as she breaks in front of them. Delany doesn’t stop, gets wild and erratic, breathing hard on her name when he stutters and comes inside her hot and fast, crying out and clinging to her thighs.

She’s just starting to climb down from her high when Brad loses his entire mind in a desperate scrabble to get what she knows he wants. Rough hands pull and bruise at her hips, tugging them up until she slides off Delany. He shoves her forward with a greed she sees only rarely in a whirlwind, usually when he’s being possessive and losing his mind, a single focus that happens to Brad once in a while, to just make her his again. Before Claire can even think about what’s happening, she’s got her cheek pressed against Alex’s chest and Brad inside her, fucking her with her ass high in the air, angle deep and punishing. He’s got handfuls of her flesh and the pain seeps in at the edges, makes everything sharper.

It’s so much – too much – and she almost can’t take the feeling of it so soon, the brutal pace and her fried nerve endings being set ablaze again. But Alex is there for her, stroking her hair. Somehow, he just _knows_ how to bring her mind back from it.

“Shh, it’s okay, just feel,” he whispers, into her head, as if it’s private, his breath still a little broken. Claire wishes she could see Brad’s face. “You can do it.”

Delany’s soft hands smooth down her upper back, and she relaxes, feels the edge of another orgasm build until she comes softly with a sharp cry and she’s full – so full – when Brad groans from behind her and comes with his hips stuttering like the fog is clearing from his mind in spots.

Her body collapses onto Delany’s when Brad pulls back, breathing hard. Her heart’s hammering and everything about her is too sensitised, exhausted, dragging down into the afterglow to think about moving from Alex’s arms. She can barely notice their arms pulling her to lie on the bed instead of Delany, give her space and air. She can’t even hear the epithets they both heap in praise of her, but she feels their meaning all the same.

A singular thought breaks across the broken synapses of her brain as she drifts off in their arms – they love her, in different ways, in different worlds, but it’s love all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I'mma hide in the corner for a sec. I'm incapable of writing a fic under 5k lately.


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